


Loose lips sink ships

by Outland2



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Espionage, F/M, Historical, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Tragedy, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outland2/pseuds/Outland2
Summary: A Tragic illustration following the life of an ex-intelligence officer who served throughout the First world war both as a fighting officer and gathering British intelligence from Germany. This Graphic, woeful tale depicts the never ending torment Wyatt James faces throughout his years of service and his hopes to find solace now that the war is over...





	1. July 12th 1919

**Author's Note:**

> This novel skips between past and present, therefore it is important to take note of the title for each chapter. I will very much appreciate any criticism on how i can improve and will be uploading a new chapter weekly... enjoy!

July 12th 1919

silent... still... nothing but saccharine silence. Not a single shell, no threatening fire of machinery, the once exhausted screams now sleep... silent...still.  
In amongst this warped utopia, a man. His body strung across a decorative bed, perfectly lined in the centre of the room. Surrounded by a menagerie of quintessential vanity's and tables. His face was turned to one side and the remainder of his body facing down toward the earth. His crisply curled golden locks limply lay across his youthful fatigued face. The desirable silence was promptly destroyed by the entrance of hasty fellow... 

"Up, up , time to get up mate!" he exclaimed in his thick Irish accent. 

"The war might be over, but d'arnt mean we die with it." 

It was clear by his choice of wording the fellow was of little intellect and most likely a working class family. His scintillating ginger hair matched that of his fierce attitude. He began quickly to pick up clothes that had been flung across the ornate carpet and drew back the curtains, letting in a vicious array of sun beams. 

"You know boy'o, i think we two are rather lucky! You see we got a second chance aye. What'd you say mate?" 

It was stale and silent once more.

" That's what i thought." The fiery haired chap chuckled to himself. 

The man on the bed let out a prolonged groan and signalled the other to leave. 

"Look mate..." the second man rambled once more. 

"God strike me down for trying, but i do not believe she would have wanted you to idle away in your pit for the next half a century."

He hurries toward the bed forcing the lying figure to sit. "C'mon Wyatt, how much did you drink this time?"...

***  
Wyatt Henry Walter James, as prudish as a name could possibly get. A lifetime of luxurious feasts and fine party's, wines too rich for the pallets of you or I. His wealth complimented his unblemished complexion, the innocence of a newborn but the experience of a wise man betwixt his icey blue eyes. This was the figure that sat hunched and dilapidated on the end of the bed.

" What time is it?" He grumbled softly. 

"Just gone 6" The other replied. 

"6!" Wyatt shouted in utter surprise. 

"Christ why are you waking me at six Leighton, mother nature has barely arisen her bed herself." 

"Pm." Leighton explained.

"Oh." Wyatt pondered a moment. 

"Well Mrs Mcgeery has already made you some grub, if you hurry she might still let you eat" Leighton continued to tidy the room, though his efforts seemed to make no improvement since the pungent stench of pure sweat and dirt was unbeatable. 

"Mrs Mcgeery will likely have me served as tomorrows dinner if i don't go now." Wyatt chuckled to himself. 

"Aye, suppose your right." They continued to laugh. 

Laughter seemed a noise to soon forgotten to fill this room, its echo made it apparent it was not present often or for long.  
The war did that you see, stole the laughter from every lip and replaced it with empty shrieks. Wyatt reluctantly reached out his arm half awake, grabbing a black silk bath-gown. From it's pocket fell a thin silver wedding band, with a heavy sapphire weighing it down.  
Wyatt paused, and bent to pick up the ring. Time stopped, the once clicking clocks of his room stood still and he found himself reliving the nightmares, the memory's surrounded him, encaging him. An unconscious hell he wished he could forget but once agian it huanted him.

The Visions... A chair, A mask, her cry, her scream, her eyes closing...closing...closed.

"Wyatt, Wyatt, mate your doing again!" 

Wyatt's nightmare was hurriedly interrupted by Leightons firm grip. 

"oh urm... sorry, so sorry" Wyatt wiped a single tear from his eye and recomposed himself. 

Leighton attempted to comfort his friend.

"Did you see 'er again son." a reply was not given just a look of despair and defeat. 

"Do you think it'll ever leave me alone, the memories i mean". Leighton looked down, trying hard to hide the unwanted answer. Slowly they stood to their feet and headed toward the door, Wyatt placed the ring into an empty vase on his bedside table and followed Leighton out of the room.


	2. October 6th 1914

October 6th 1914

A crowd of exuding, sweaty perturbed men swarmed the cobbled street of London. Queuing impatiently outside a bijou building, awaiting their chance to enlist in the British army. And with it the promise of approbation, honour and Glory. The lies fed spoonful by spoonful into the minds of the impressionable young men desperate for praise and to feel useful, these were the men that qued outside. 

Not too far from the front stood Wyatt, Leighton and three other men. One was of huge proportions, his large body outweighed that of his small head, on which sat a small brush of thick dark hair across his top lip, his hair was greasily swept to one side and he dressed in a shabby white shirt, carelessly tucked into a pair pants; held up by sooty suspenders run down with a single red stripe. The men referred to him as "Tommy the Tommy."   
The reason for the nickname was far from that of him being English through and through, but just that he was Italian and his real name; Tolomeo Sciacchivano, was ridiculously long and virtually impossible to remember.   
The irony was that Tommy was far from British, in fact, he detested British culture, coming from a long line of Italian Opera singers and Actors. 

Bert was stood contentedly beside Wyatt, the two oddly similar in many ways from their fine single-breasted jackets to their oxford brogues and their proud, confident stance. Bert and Wyatt had been childhood friends, both coming from families of material they were often acquainted at parties and dinners. 

"Here we go, boys!" The last boy shouted, if it wasn't clear by his heavy Irish accent, This was Leightons younger brother, Charlie.  
"The hun are gonna get what's coming to 'em" He continued, shouting over the crowd of deep, brisk voices. 

"When I Charlie Stafford reach the enemy soil, you'll see, those boys will be on their knees when they see me."

"Yes Charlie, of course, I suppose they will be on their knees" Wyatt added, the men began to giggle whilst charlie's cheeks grew rapidly red.

"How do you mean?" He queried. 

"What he means little charlie" Bert responded... 

"Is that they are going to need a bloody magnifying glass if they want to see you." 

A tumultuous roar of laughter filled the air, as it grew so did the current of blood gushing to the front of charlie's pasty white cheeks.   
Leighton stepped forward and rubbed his brother's bright ball of hair atop his head, Charlie suddenly pushed his hand away and shot him a piercing look of annoyance. 

"Leave the lad alone, t' is best not tease him or he'll punch you in the knee." The thunderous uproar of delight filled the air once more. 

Charlie sulkily moved behind his brother hoping he could hide the betrayal his body had done him in revealing his embarrassment. 

"Does your mother no he's here Leighton?" Tommy asked. 

"Sure does," he replied. 

"The old lady encouraged the eejit, reckons the army rejecting him might knock some sense into that piddly brain of his" They continued to chuckle. 

Leighton continued "The lads too young, doesn't know what's good for him, even if it flew by and smacked him in the face. He's barely made it to 17 and already he has a bleeding death wish." 

"I can hear you know!" Charlie pushed forward and playfully punched his brother's arm.

Minutes passed and with it, the sun grew heavy and closer, the conversation grew short and excitement and anticipation had turned to nerves. Tommy began to sing vehemently in Italian, attempting to fill the silence. A group of young veteran nurses walked by, their lips rouge and hair tied neatly by a white nurse's cap, they looked at Tommy as he sang and began to quicken their pace staring at him as though he were some outlandish creature.

"Tommy give it a rest will you, you're frightening the birds away" Bert pleaded. 

"which ones" Wyatt pointed towards a flock of birds swiftly flying overhead. 

"Cazzate Mio Amico, the ladies love the music." he declared whilst elaborating his point with feminine, elegant gestures. 

Leighton patted his friend firmly on the back "Of course my friend, of course" said with a satirical tone.

"Name?" A sonorous voice interrupted. 

Wyatt turned and looked down at a senior man sat up against a crooked wooden table.

"What's the name please, we don't have all day?"

"Wyatt sir, Wyatt Henry Walter James." 

"Wyatt James it is, age and occupation?" the officer snapped. 

"Twenty-four and no current occupation sir!" Wyatt tried drastically to hide his tremoring lip and sweat-soaked hands.

"God they really are getting desperate aren't they." The officer sneered whilst engraving Wyatt's name into the paper.

He looked up and pointed through a small white door "right through there, take the last left and wait on the bench outside the door. Do not walk in until instructed, understood?" He handed Wyatt the papers and nodded abruptly. 

Wyatt stepped promptly through the door and headed away from the others. Leighton, Burt and Tommy completed their papers and moved quickly into the building, awaiting medical examination. Charlie had sneakily secluded himself from the others and was the last of the five to enlist. 

"Name?" The officer demanded, his head almost buried in the pile of papers. 

"Charles Stafford, sir!" Charlie straightened his posture pushing his biceps out with all matter of forces. 

"Well your a plucky blight, aren't you chap?" The officer laughed 

"Sir?" Charlie became startled but continued to uphold his posture. 

"Say, how old are you," the officer asked, a tone of exhilaration in his voice. 

"Nineteen sir, just turned." He answered loudly, trying hard to conceal his trembling hands.

"ID?" The officer questioned. 

"Lost it, sir." 

The officer paused for a moment and looked behind charlie at another hopeful boy, not much taller, but his face much more mature and aged. 

"That's what I thought, say stand up against that lad there" 

The boys met in hight and the officer asked the other for his age and ID. The boy stated he was 20 and handed the officer his ID with immense confusion. "Hmm.." he contemplated. 

"It'll have to do I suppose." He placed the papers reluctantly into Charlie's hands, patted his arm and pointed him into the building.

Wyatt plumped himself uncomfortably onto the bench situated outside the medical room. He satisfied himself through what seemed a never-ending wait by scrutinizing the posters and leaflets placed jaggedly around the walls. "Rally round the flag, every fit man wanted", "Will you do it, for honour", "Bring home victory boys." An endless abundance of propaganda, in every direction you turned on every wall. At the time they seemed thrilling and intriguing but eventually, it would become suffocating and patronizing, as Lord Kitchener pointed his frightening finger at you beckoning "your country needs you!"

"Good luck mate!" Wyatt turned to find the closed door finally open and standing in front of it another ominous enlister. As he strode away the Doctor came to the door "Papers please." He requested, holding out his hand. Wyatt handed him the paper and wiped a bead of escaping sweat from his brow

"Okay, Mr.James come on in and let us take a look at you." The kind doctor moved aside allowing Wyatt to enter and gestured him toward a seat. 

"Okay son, we're going to be doing a few quick tests, just the standard hearing, eyesight etc... pass everything and you are pretty much halfway to the front line. " He smiled gently, this was a great comfort after the awkward encounter with the previous officer.   
After a profusion of prodding and poking, hopping repeatedly across the room on one leg and squinting at a Snellen eye chart the Doctor sat and began to write rapidly on Wyatts enlistment papers. Wyatt slouched nervously awaiting his next instructions. "Now the horrible part, I need you to strip down, place your arms above your head and circle slowly." Wyatt did so, quickly removing his clothing, standing tall and placing his arms above his head he began to circle. The doctor looked him up and down studying for lumps, bumps or anything suspicious. After a quick examination, he nodded, stroked his moustache and sat back in his seat, lit himself a bulky cigar and began to scribble again onto Wyatt's paper.

Time seemed to drag as the humble doctor sealed Wyatt's fate onto a thin sheet with mere ink. "It's a shame" he began to say "Handsome young chap, such a pretty face, pity it won't stay that way if this war has anything to do with it". Wyatt became confused and startled "Excuse me?" He exclaimed. The doctor began to laugh profusely. "I'm just pulling your leg." A picture of concern ran across Wyatt's face. "We're all done here, you're as fit as a fiddle, no reason why you shouldn't be geared up and getting some of the action as soon as possible." The doctor handed Wyatt his fate and held out his hand once more but this time to bid him farewell!


	3. July 12th 1919

Here we go, lad!" Leighton thrust a bowl of greenish broth in front of Wyatt.

"Better eat up, food aint so scarce no more, down with the ration book and gladly slow" He jested, waving his fist above his head in excitement.  
"The first thing I did when I got back from the front was have me Ma' whip up the greasiest bacon sandwich!"

"Was it worth it?" Wyatt questioned whilst forcing the broth between his lips.

"Well you see she's never been much of a cook, ended up crucifying the bacon which she placed between two stale slabs o' bread, but beggars can't be choosers. Sure beats Bully beef!" 

"Mouthwatering" Wyatt replied, dropping his rustic spoon back into the bowl and pushing it aside after the thought of Bully beef; a finely minced meat encased by a thick coating of slimy gelatin, like that of which you would feed a hound.

"Think I cracked a tooth or two after my first bite" Leighton laughed, though the cheer was not reciprocated as he looks toward his friend who's head tilt down once more toward the ground, similarly succumb to pain and sadness.

"Was wrong, did I say something wrong?" Leighton asked, trying to sympathise but evidently struggling to hide the slight irritation in his voice.  
"No, of course not, sorry Leighton its nothing" Wyatt looked up, falsely reassuring his friend.  
"If you say so roger, well I best be off "  
Leighton turned toward the hallway and eagerly grabbed for his coat draped across the sofa.  
As he strode towards the front hall he turned once more, extracting a gold lined card from his trench coat, handing it to Wyatt he nodded softly " We'd be glad to see you there boyo." following, he swiftly took his leave.

Staring down at the card of which read;

You are cordially invited to an evening of celebration amongst friends  
Proceedings start 9 pm onwards, July 15th   
33 Harding Park, Greater London, S04 908   
We hope to see you there!  
Regards, The Staffords

Wyatt chuckled to himself bewildered by how far Leightons intellect had progressed that he could devise such an invitation of intellect, it became clear to him he no longer knew his friend, not as he did then, before...

15th July 8:50 pm

Surrounded by the gentleman in fine suits, with top hats of fur plush a contrast to the steel helmets which had previously been clung to there heads; Wyatt made his way toward the door of Leighton's new home. An air of finesse surrounded it, the greatest of architecture, from the cream pillars which held it up to the whitely defined brick's which protected those inside. Leighton's previous house had been bombed during the war everything inside had perished. Wyatt pondered a moment how his friend had come to such prosperity given that the Stafford's had always been poor, often Wyatt had even aided them with paying bills here and there.

He proceeds to knock and is welcomed in by a butler who offers his hand for Wyatt's coat. He seems shocked to find the lack of a hat of any kind, as though it be an act of pure barbarity. 

"Wyatt you old slacker, you made it" A familiar Irish voice beckons from his rear. Leighton charges forward dressed in dinner wear, a rare sight indeed from his days of suspenders and flat caps. "By Jove Leighton, i was starting to think I'd wandered into the wrong place, this is certainly a step up from your previous abode".

"Hmm, funny story that boyo, I have one person to thank for all this and id like you to meet em, Wyatt..."

Leighton gestures at a young women to come over.

"This is my wife, Maria"

"I say congratulations are in hand old friend, Lady Stafford,a pleasure."

The girl interrupts, her voice slicing through that of Wyatt like a knife to butter " So this is the famous Wyatt, not exactly the Godly looking angel my husband insisted, but a vision of wonder none the less" She lets out a snippet of laughter between her heavily rouged lips. 

"Would you have me embarrassed in front of him my love" Leighton whispers, heavily blushing.

"I needn't embarrass you Leighton you do that yourself" she laughs once more and turns her back as to rejoin society, returning to the temptations of fine wine and company.

Leighton turns to Wyatt "She was serving as a nurse at a casualty clearing station, treated my shot wound in my foot. One thing led to another and here we are, turns out her Pop's is pretty well off, insisted i could only marry his daughter if i were to accept the house and lifestyle he wants for her, I'm certainly not complaining, I've been dining with the top of them Wyatt, the top I tell You." 

"You always were one for a cheesy love story Stafford"

"Bugger off James, you're on my soil now boy so you watch that wagging tongue of yours" They laugh in sync, the first honest laugh.

"I must go boyo else she'll have me boiled and served as supper, we've assigned you a seat at the table next to the old Vicar, so you'll be comfortable"

Wyatt smiles. "Oh, and could you ask the maid to put this up with Charley's things in his room" Wyatt takes the object from his hand and searches for a maid to carry out the task. The night passes quickly, wine flows and the conversation grows sparse. The thought of food fills the heads of every guest as they stare like vultures at the empty tables, pondering when their stomachs will be once again satisfied. And with the delightful ring of glass, they swarmed to table in their hundreds, as though they charge toward the enemy trench onto No man's land and vacate themselves at the tables of delicacy. 

The piercing ring of a fork to glass persists once more, followed by Leighton heavy voice muffled by the victoria sponge he had shovelled into his mouth beforehand. 

"Ladies, gents, thank you kindly for actually showing up" The vultures reciprocate with a laugh "Me and Maria couldn't be more grateful for all of your support in these passing years. We have faced many struggles but with the help of you all, we were able to pull ourselves back up and now more than ever we are happy, even if it does mean waking up every morning to this blasted women chastising me for my snoring, well... maria and I hope that you will all join us in further celebration as we...together welcome a Stafford jr into this sodded world." An array of claps and whistles echo amongst the room, Wyatt finds his throat lodged with a coarse potato, frantically trying to swallow the shock. This was the moment Wyatt realised that the world was moving forward, and he not with it. His body curdled in a heat surprise, a feeling he did not favour. He felt his face redden and promptly stood to his feet knocking undrunk wine onto his leg. Out of embarrassment, he withdrew himself from the room. He wandered his way into a small study room at the end of a long corridor. Pulling dusted books from an unkempt shelf of literary pages from the most famous of prodigies to what looked to be diaries, mixed with the blood sweat and toil of war. Through the clutter, he caught sight of a photo frame and walked closer to inspect it. A smile forced itself upon his face and he felt a sudden exhilaration as held in his hand a mere reflection of himself, surrounded by his friends, all tucked soundly in their uniforms, ready; or so they believed for war...


End file.
